Selective Memory (2/?)
Part II
Crap.
Lois quickly shuffled across the loft, balancing a stack of frames in her arms. If she were to venture a look down, twenty-odd glossy Lana Langs would be staring back at her.
“Lois?” Clark called from the barn’s entrance.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
Lois picked up the pace, snatching the last few photos from Clark’s makeshift shrine. She scanned the room for a place to stash them, keenly aware of the work boots now clomping up the stairs.
Snap-decision time, Lois settled on the trunk by the bay window. She toed open the lid, flung the frames inside and whirled around just in time to see --
“Clark, hey.” She reached behind her and knocked the lid shut, hiding her guilt behind a tight smile.
It had been an hour since Chloe had left her alone with Mr. Nobody and she had been running herself ragged trying to hide the evidence of Clark’s life that didn’t mesh with her newfound status as his fiancée. She’d taken personal belongings that had once been confined to her room and redistributed them throughout the house. The living room couch had been successfully stripped of its bed linens. And while he was getting reacquainted with Shelby, she’d even thrown a bunch of his ugly flannel shirts in with her laundry.
Luckily she didn’t have to worry about the answering machine message. She’d personalized that thing weeks ago.
All in all, Lois felt like she had a pretty good handle on the situation. That was, until Clark entered the equation. It seemed that sans-memory, and whatever burdens that went along with it, Clark Kent oozed confidence. And so did his hands. To her credit she’d endured all the PDAs with a poker face Amarillo Slim would be proud of, slipping out of his advances with one quick excuse after another.
But when he had snuck up behind her in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her torso and placing a light kiss on her neck - well, that had been her breaking point.
She had ditched him by the hall stairs and ducked into the linen closet to make a frantic call to Chloe.
“Pickup, pick up, pick up…”
“Hello?”
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“Lois?”
“I tried. I failed. I’ve accepted my shortcomings. Now can I please tell Clark the truth?”
“What happened? I left you two alone for an hour -“
“He nuzzled me, Chlo! I’m a team player but I draw the line at groping.”
“Lois, please. It won’t be much longer. I found a day pass for the Grand View Motor Cross Park. I’m tracing it now.”
“Chlo-e.”
“It’ll be quick. I promise.”
Quick her ass. She hadn’t heard from her cousin since.
Lois shuddered off the memory as Clark moved closer, handing her a blue and white striped photo album. “I found this in my parents’ room. I thought it might help.”
Lois nodded. It was a step in the right direction. “Great. The sooner we get those elusive memories back, the better.”
His hand brushed her arm. “Thanks, Lois. For helping with this,” he said sincerely. His lips quirked up in that dopey love-sick smile she was beginning to find extremely unsettling.
Lois awkwardly cleared her throat. “Um, sure.” She spun on her heels and made her way to the couch. “Let’s get started. We’re burnin’ daylight here, Smallville.”
Lois took a seat, only to find him exactly where she had left him. She pointed at him.
“You. Smallville,” she clarified.
He considered it for a moment and then slyly asked, “Is that a pet name?”
She blinked.
A what?
“I like it,” he said as he sat down beside her, a little closer than she would have preferred. As if it was second nature - and apparently it was - his hand found its way to her thigh. Lois immediately stiffened.
“Oh look, here you are riding a tractor!” she squeaked, shoving the open album in his face. “This must really open the floodgates huh? I bet it’s all coming back to you. Well, my job here is done -“
She vaulted herself off the couch only to have him catch her arm. He shook his head apologetically.
She sighed and plopped back down, cracking the album once again and inhaling deeply. Something told her that the re-education of Clark Kent was going to be as tedious as it was awkward.
“Okay, Sm-Clark. Let’s refresh that memory of yours.”
The picture on the first page was black and white; an old couple stood smiling in front of a farm house, two German Shepards at their heels. Clark looked at her expectantly.
“This is…um…an old guy in a straw hat,” Lois narrated lamely. “And his wife, Mrs. Old Guy In a Straw Hat.” She sighed and gave him a contrite shrug. “Sorry, I don’t really know many people in your family.”
“It’s okay. Neither do I,” he assured her with a wink.
Lois eyed him wearily. She had never seen him quite this self-assured before. It was like he was finally comfortable in his own skin. Or flannel.
She was beginning to wonder if Clark had lost his memories or underwent a lobotomy.
“Do you know her?”
The album had been turned to the next page. The old couple was gone and in their place Lana Lang stood as the apex of human pyramid, pom poms raised victoriously.
How had she made it into the family album? Damn, that girl was everywhere.
“That’s Lana,” Lois explained carefully. “She used to live next door.”
“Oh.” Clark shrugged and flipped the page.
She continued to watch him, waiting for the fallout. Wasn’t this the part when Clark Kent’s mind was whipped into a frappe and began to leak out of his ears? “Well?”
“Well…what?”
She flipped the page back. “Are you telling me you don’t recognize her?”
Clark studied the picture for a minute. “Actually, now that you mention it, I think I do.”
Lois felt her whole body relax. Now they were getting somewhere.
“I think there’s a picture of her downstairs.”
Lois rolled her eyes. Of course there is. “That’s it? You saw a picture of her downstairs? That’s the entire extent of your recollection of this girl right here?”
“Yup.” Clark turned to her and frowned. “Why? Is she important?”
“I...I guess not.”
As Clark continued to flip through the album, Lois leaned back against the couch cushions. None of this made sense. Clark didn’t recognize the girl he had been lusting after for who knows how long, but he remembered her? And in a romantic context? She was no psych major - hell, she wasn’t a major period - but wouldn’t that mean that…
God, she needed an aspirin.
“Hey, Lo?”
She looked up, the affectionate shortening of her name registering only on the fringes of her mind.
“Where are all the pictures of us?”
Crap.
Lois quickly shuffled across the loft, balancing a stack of frames in her arms. If she were to venture a look down, twenty-odd glossy Lana Langs would be staring back at her.
“Lois?” Clark called from the barn’s entrance.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
Lois picked up the pace, snatching the last few photos from Clark’s makeshift shrine. She scanned the room for a place to stash them, keenly aware of the work boots now clomping up the stairs.
Snap-decision time, Lois settled on the trunk by the bay window. She toed open the lid, flung the frames inside and whirled around just in time to see --
“Clark, hey.” She reached behind her and knocked the lid shut, hiding her guilt behind a tight smile.
It had been an hour since Chloe had left her alone with Mr. Nobody and she had been running herself ragged trying to hide the evidence of Clark’s life that didn’t mesh with her newfound status as his fiancée. She’d taken personal belongings that had once been confined to her room and redistributed them throughout the house. The living room couch had been successfully stripped of its bed linens. And while he was getting reacquainted with Shelby, she’d even thrown a bunch of his ugly flannel shirts in with her laundry.
Luckily she didn’t have to worry about the answering machine message. She’d personalized that thing weeks ago.
All in all, Lois felt like she had a pretty good handle on the situation. That was, until Clark entered the equation. It seemed that sans-memory, and whatever burdens that went along with it, Clark Kent oozed confidence. And so did his hands. To her credit she’d endured all the PDAs with a poker face Amarillo Slim would be proud of, slipping out of his advances with one quick excuse after another.
But when he had snuck up behind her in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her torso and placing a light kiss on her neck - well, that had been her breaking point.
She had ditched him by the hall stairs and ducked into the linen closet to make a frantic call to Chloe.
“Pickup, pick up, pick up…”
“Hello?”
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“Lois?”
“I tried. I failed. I’ve accepted my shortcomings. Now can I please tell Clark the truth?”
“What happened? I left you two alone for an hour -“
“He nuzzled me, Chlo! I’m a team player but I draw the line at groping.”
“Lois, please. It won’t be much longer. I found a day pass for the Grand View Motor Cross Park. I’m tracing it now.”
“Chlo-e.”
“It’ll be quick. I promise.”
Quick her ass. She hadn’t heard from her cousin since.
Lois shuddered off the memory as Clark moved closer, handing her a blue and white striped photo album. “I found this in my parents’ room. I thought it might help.”
Lois nodded. It was a step in the right direction. “Great. The sooner we get those elusive memories back, the better.”
His hand brushed her arm. “Thanks, Lois. For helping with this,” he said sincerely. His lips quirked up in that dopey love-sick smile she was beginning to find extremely unsettling.
Lois awkwardly cleared her throat. “Um, sure.” She spun on her heels and made her way to the couch. “Let’s get started. We’re burnin’ daylight here, Smallville.”
Lois took a seat, only to find him exactly where she had left him. She pointed at him.
“You. Smallville,” she clarified.
He considered it for a moment and then slyly asked, “Is that a pet name?”
She blinked.
A what?
“I like it,” he said as he sat down beside her, a little closer than she would have preferred. As if it was second nature - and apparently it was - his hand found its way to her thigh. Lois immediately stiffened.
“Oh look, here you are riding a tractor!” she squeaked, shoving the open album in his face. “This must really open the floodgates huh? I bet it’s all coming back to you. Well, my job here is done -“
She vaulted herself off the couch only to have him catch her arm. He shook his head apologetically.
She sighed and plopped back down, cracking the album once again and inhaling deeply. Something told her that the re-education of Clark Kent was going to be as tedious as it was awkward.
“Okay, Sm-Clark. Let’s refresh that memory of yours.”
The picture on the first page was black and white; an old couple stood smiling in front of a farm house, two German Shepards at their heels. Clark looked at her expectantly.
“This is…um…an old guy in a straw hat,” Lois narrated lamely. “And his wife, Mrs. Old Guy In a Straw Hat.” She sighed and gave him a contrite shrug. “Sorry, I don’t really know many people in your family.”
“It’s okay. Neither do I,” he assured her with a wink.
Lois eyed him wearily. She had never seen him quite this self-assured before. It was like he was finally comfortable in his own skin. Or flannel.
She was beginning to wonder if Clark had lost his memories or underwent a lobotomy.
“Do you know her?”
The album had been turned to the next page. The old couple was gone and in their place Lana Lang stood as the apex of human pyramid, pom poms raised victoriously.
How had she made it into the family album? Damn, that girl was everywhere.
“That’s Lana,” Lois explained carefully. “She used to live next door.”
“Oh.” Clark shrugged and flipped the page.
She continued to watch him, waiting for the fallout. Wasn’t this the part when Clark Kent’s mind was whipped into a frappe and began to leak out of his ears? “Well?”
“Well…what?”
She flipped the page back. “Are you telling me you don’t recognize her?”
Clark studied the picture for a minute. “Actually, now that you mention it, I think I do.”
Lois felt her whole body relax. Now they were getting somewhere.
“I think there’s a picture of her downstairs.”
Lois rolled her eyes. Of course there is. “That’s it? You saw a picture of her downstairs? That’s the entire extent of your recollection of this girl right here?”
“Yup.” Clark turned to her and frowned. “Why? Is she important?”
“I...I guess not.”
As Clark continued to flip through the album, Lois leaned back against the couch cushions. None of this made sense. Clark didn’t recognize the girl he had been lusting after for who knows how long, but he remembered her? And in a romantic context? She was no psych major - hell, she wasn’t a major period - but wouldn’t that mean that…
God, she needed an aspirin.
“Hey, Lo?”
She looked up, the affectionate shortening of her name registering only on the fringes of her mind.
“Where are all the pictures of us?”